I remember holding him that morning. I remember rocking him to sleep because the doctors and anesthesiologists were running late. I remember being irritated because I just wanted the surgery to be over because I knew he was hungry. I remember my honey taking a picture of me holding him so close to my chest with Snow White painted on the wall behind us. I remember thinking with a stab of guilt that I should give him to my husband so I could take their pictures. Thank God I did. It's the last picture we had of each other holding him. I remember looking at his sweet little face and wishing I could do it for him. I remember praying everything would be ok. I remember handing him to the nurse and walking down the hall with them to the OR and her telling me to go the other way while she walked away with him. I remember crying so hard and kissing him on the cheek. I remember him crying because he wanted me not this stranger and I know he was so hungry, I know he was. He wanted me and he wanted a bottle. He didn't want what was about to happen to him. I remember going into a side room in the waiting area and crying my eyes out. I remember Ivan asking me why I was crying so hard. It was just a feeling I had. I couldn't explain it.
I remember sitting there on the floor stamping all of his baptism cards for the party we were going to have when he got home. I remember the doctor coming out hours later with a funny look on his face.
The rest is history. If I could scream to the Heavens I would. God Damn it! Why am I re living all of this over and over and over and over and over?
I dont' care about the reasons right now. I don't care about the lessons I was supposed to learn. I dont' care about the positive spin I try to pretend to put on everything this minutes. I dont' care! I'm just mad. I just want him back. I want to just undo it all, unravel the ball that is wound so tightly with all that has happened and let the ball ravel back up a different way.
I'm sorry I just said GD. I'm sorry. I'm just having a time with this.
You cook, you clean, you go to work, you nourish, you love, you scold, you are professional and yet you hang your hat on every dust particle in your home. You are a woman. Some women are Moms and some are not. You are still a woman. We are all made similarly. We are strong.
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